


Not Today

by BronzeAgeLove



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Depression, Elysium, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jordan Shepard (OC), N7 Day, Nightmares, War Hero Shepard, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BronzeAgeLove/pseuds/BronzeAgeLove
Summary: Overwhelmed by guilt and anxiety, Jordan Shepard can't sleep and calls Garrus for comfort
Relationships: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian
Comments: 12
Kudos: 26





	Not Today

**Author's Note:**

> Happy N7 Day 2020, Mass Effect Fandom :)

Set the turret. Seek cover. Breathe. Give cover fire. Breathe.

_Why am I doing this?_

Shoot. Eject another thermal clip. Retreat.

The turret exploded, hot splinters flying in all directions.

_I don‘t want any of this._

Knees weak, Jordan Shepard slumped against the crate she was hiding behind, her body shaking with the staccato impact of enemy fire on the metal opposite. 

Breathe. A new thermal clip.

She hung her head, eyes unfocused somewhere on the floor. The whispers got stronger. What if she just sat there, let them overwhelm her. Maybe then she could finally sleep... 

Her eyes fell close. In the middle of the battlefield.

The well-known crack of a Black Widow rifle boomed through the Cerberus warehouse, jolted her upright.

_Focus._

Garrus’ voice. Calm on the surface, though a hint of panic carried in it. 

"Commander, head down! They‘re crowding in on you!"

She blinked, shook her head. The dark thoughts retreated, whispering. 

Not today. 

_Not today._

Focus returned. 

"Copy that, Vakarian." 

Jordan got onto her feet, set another turret. Waited for the end, for when all that remained would be the burn in her lungs and silence, thick and heavy, interspersed with the crackling of broken circuitry, the hiss of flames. 

Just like Elysium.

* * *

_Commander, what happened down there?_

Facing her crew at the debrief was harder than she‘d anticipated. They‘d all seen her give up, slump against that crate, ready to surrender.

Their eyes were on her, full of a mixture of pity and disbelief. Vega was one thing, he always carried this air of slight disapproval. But Garrus’ mandibles were pinched close to his face, that she knew too well. It had been the same after leaving Menae.

She exhaled, tried breathing away her uneasiness, the feeling of not being enough. One day, she knew, she had to face them about it, turn herself inside out, but not today.

She went through the debrief on automatic, tried avoiding looking them in the eyes.

 _Failure_ , the voices whispered.

 _I am_ , she whispered back.

* * *

Fragments of memory flashed through her mind like shards of a stroboscope, gone in the fraction of a second.

Elysium. Elysium.

The Citadel, under attack. One of Sovereign‘s legs, moving like a huge creature from the deeps, gargantuan, of black steel, behind, behind, while they fought their way up from the elevator. 

One shot. 

Another. 

Geth fall, like snowflakes, away in the wind. 

Elysium, as waves upon waves of enemies crashed against their barricades.

Elysium, gone.

The human reaper, rearing its head, staring right into her soul, laying it all bare, all the inadequacy, the insecurity, the weight of the galaxy‘s demands on her shoulders...

Jordan woke with a gasp, clutched at her sheets. 

_Home._

The Normandy‘s hum, so familiar around her, the streaks of space above.

Drenched in sweat, she struggled out of the covers, sat on the edge of the bed, hugged her bare shoulders. She’d stopped wearing pajamas some time ago. If she got hot during the night, the flashbacks got worse. So she slept naked. It didn’t help anymore. With a sob, Jordan wrapped her arms around herself, giving in to the grief.

She never showed this part of herself to anybody, too used to being the great Commander Shepard, hero of the galaxy. Commander Shepard wasn‘t an anxiety-ridden thirty-something with intrusive thoughts and obsessive tendencies, right?

They’d called her War Hero, back then. Saviour of the Citadel. Empty words. Only empty words.

Jordan powered up her omni-tool, and, through the blur of tears, sent an enquiry.

"Hey." 

Garrus‘ voice reached her through the soft sound of her sniffles. 

"Bad dream again?"

Too exhausted to say anything, she nodded, clutched at her sheets. With a sigh, he sat down on the edge of the bed. The mattress sagged, and Jordan slid towards him. A comforting presence, all warmth and reassurance.

"I‘m tired, Garrus," she whispered when the silence became too overbearing. "So tired. I‘m sick of being the one everybody has their hopes on. I never wanted this."

His voice was a calm rumble as he stroked through her hair, sweat-soaked at the nape of her neck. 

"I know. And yet you go on."

Blunted talons dragged along her scalp in a gentle massage, so pleasant it made the hair on her arms stand. 

"I‘m sick of being the hero. Sick of having to tell great people like Adrien Victus that family members are dead because I wasn‘t good enough. Sick of - "

"Jordan, please don’t go there."

The caresses continued, down her neck, drawing circles between her shoulder blades.

"Garrus, I died. I felt it. _I died!_ I remember as if it was yesterday; my spirit, my life draining from my body, the black _nothing_ reaching out for me! Like seaweed brushing against my legs in a murky pond."

She shuddered as ice prickled down her spine. 

"I keep having flashes of Elysium. All the despair, the visceral knowledge that I won't make it. They gave me a shiny medal for it. Said I was a Hero."

With one arm, she gestured at herself, curled up in fetal position. 

"Is that what a hero looks like? I don’t think so. I was on fucking vacation."

The last words came out jumbled and angry.

Garrus' exhale stirred the hair at the back of her head.

"I can tell you why they call you a hero. It‘s you because you will not give up, because, despite your fear of not being enough, you keep on going. Your strength lies in surviving, in showing everyone that they can go on, and prevail. No matter how deep their sorrow, their fear."

Elysium loomed, that damned _hope_ mingling into the exhaustion and despair churning in her gut, fogging her thoughts. 

His arms went around her, enveloping her shaking shoulders. A bulwark to take off some of the weight. He may not have been there when she died, but he’d seen his own kind of abyss. 

No, Commander Shepard would not show weakness to anyone while the weight of the galaxy crushed down on her shoulders. Not today. But for a few minutes during the night, she was allowed to.


End file.
